


Safe

by danpuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Fear Play, Ignored Safeword, Knife Play, M/M, Roleplay, Sensation Play, Sensory Deprivation, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danpuff/pseuds/danpuff
Summary: Harry is sure of a lot of things, until he isn't.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 24
Kudos: 56





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: the following is a scene that was planned for and consented to by both partners. It isn't very clear and I may add a second chapter detailing it more, but for now this is what we have!

Cool glass against his lips. Small opening. Harry turns his face, traces the shape of a vial with his nose before his jaw is gripped and the glass pressed insistently against his mouth. He tilts his head again, futilely attempting to smell until he remembers he can’t. The grip on his jaw tightens and reluctantly Harry parts his lips, allows the liquid into his mouth. 

It must be a potion of some sort, if it’s in a vial. But it might be pumpkin juice for all he knows. Juice or water or poison. Harry sloshes it around his tongue, sucks between his teeth. Is disconcerted by the lack of taste, but notes the thickness and the way it burns and fizzles down his throat. Not water, unless it is charmed to fool him. A trickle of fear follows the liquid into his belly.

He thought he would miss taste and smell the least, had not thought he would be tormented by their loss. 

There had been ten minutes between each removal. Smell had been first. A red rose had been brought out for the occasion - the satiny petals stroked across his face, and he hadn’t caught a whiff of it’s fragrance. Taste had been next. He’d rolled his tongue around uselessly, then obediently flopped it out for Severus to pinch and stroke. Strange to feel the firmness of his grip, but not taste the salt of his skin. 

Severus had wiped the saliva off on his cheek and as Harry winced, Severus kissed him. Open-mouthed and wet, tongue stroking his own, and Harry had been too distracted by the wrongness, missing the taste of his lover, to appreciate the feel of him. 

Sight had been third. Severus made a show of walking him around the room first. They began at the red leather chaise where Severus lectured on its properties. The furniture changed shape at the push of a button (“to accommodate a wider range of positions”), almost all of which included options for restraint. Then the wall displays. Whips and crops and canes. Nipple clamps and cock rings and butt plugs. Feathers and silk scarves and feathers. Harry only caught a glimpse of the more innocent objects - the sight-stealing spell was slipped in among the explanations smoothly and without warning. When his world turned black he gasped and stumbled, but was caught by his chuckling lover. 

Hearing went last. Severus had just guided him onto the chaise when there was a knock on the door. Severus called “Enter” and he heard the door open, footsteps, murmured voices, and then Severus’s voice whispering the spell. 

Now, Harry does not know who it is gripping his jaw. He does not know what the vial looks like, or what the liquid looks like. He does not know how many people are in the room, only that there are more than one. He can’t smell cologne or perfume. Can’t hear any voices or movement. He runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, over his teeth, but no there are no hints of taste to be found. Only his touch is left to him. 

He is too aware of his body. He can feel his lungs expanding on his inhale. Can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the blood rushing through his veins. Can feel a tickle on his scalp as someone touches his hair. Feels breath on his neck. Feels the potion/juice/poison travelling through him. 

It’s fine, he tells himself firmly. He’s fine. Severus is here somewhere. Severus would not leave him alone with these people. Would not abandon him to the mercy of others. He _wouldn’t_. 

But Harry thought he would know Severus’s touch anywhere, even deaf and blind, and he tells himself that - the cool fingers tracing his ear, that must be Severus. But - there is another hand petting his thigh, and another rubbing his back. Another stroking through his hair. They can’t all be Severus. But Severus does not like other people touching him. Why is he allowing this? And which one is him? Are any of them him? 

Breathes through the panic. Swallows it back down. Beats it into submission. There is no reason to worry. The hands are kind. Soft. There is no reason to be afraid. He is with Severus. Severus will take care of him. He always does. 

He sniffs sharply. Hopes something will break through. Swipes his tongue across dry lips. Nothing. Tilts his head this way and that, as though motion will dislodge whatever clogs his ears. Squeezes his eyes tightly then opens them wide. Blinks rapidly. Stops. Stops the useless attempts and just breathes through it. 

Hands - small hands, he thinks, and therefore not Severus - press into his shoulders. Massages them. Harry cringes. Pulls away. Lurches forward. A hand grips his hair, tugs him back into place. Reflexively he lashes out - throws out an elbow into the nearest body. Stupid, when he is surrounded. 

Who are they? He never saw them. Barely heard them. Men or women? Short or tall? He doesn’t know anything, anything at all. Does he know them? Are they strangers? Why is Severus letting them touch him - stroke him. Grab at him. His arms are held steady. Whoever they are, they’re strong. Each arm is pressed against a chest. Firm, muscular chests. Strong arms holding him still as leather cuffs are placed around his wrists. 

There is shifting. He is tugged back. His back is on the leather chaise and though he tugs his arms, they cannot move far. The cuffs have been attached to the chaise, he can tell. His fingertips brush the hardwood floor and he cannot lift more than a few inches. Harry kicks out his legs, but they are grabbed and held. Cool hand cupping his cheek stalls him from kicking again. Thumb traces his lips. Severus. It must be. Harry tries to relax into his touch, but uncertainty keeps him on edge. The hand lightly pats his cheek. His shirt is pulled up. Harry’s arms struggle against the bindings. The shirt is tucked beneath his armpits and his nipple is given an admonishing pinch. 

If that is not Severus’s hand, Harry reminds himself, then Severus is still in the room. He is safe.

There is movement in the air. He can feel them shifting around. His head tilts this way and that, trying to follow, but there is too much going on. What are they doing? Harry breathes. His shirt is plucked away from his skin. What are they doing? Harry’s head lifts off of the chaise, but a hand pushes it back down. “Shit,” he says. Strange not to hear his own voice. He licks his lips and lays still and stiff until the fabric falls away from him. They cut his shirt, he realizes. The fabric is tugged out from beneath him in strips and - and what? Dropped to the floor? Tossed into a fire? Tucked into a pocket? 

“ _Breathe, breathe, breathe_ ,” he whispers to himself. He twists to one side, sensing - something. But then - his trainers are being pulled off. Then his socks. Terror freezes his heart as his trousers are unbuttoned. His legs pull but they are still held tight against someone’s chest. Held there until trousers and pants are pulled down. Only then does the grip shift. Loosens enough for Harry to kick his legs free. His lower body falls off of the chaise, but he is still bound by his arms. His left arm is jerked harshly and he hisses. The hardwood and leather are cool against his bare flesh. The skin that meets his is warm. Hands grasp him, move him back onto the chaise. Leather cuffs around his ankles. Cuffs attached to the chaise.

“Please, don’t,” he says. Hands pet and stroke over his skin consolingly. Warm, dry hand cups his soft prick. Pressure in his chest - heart and lungs held in a vice. “Severus?” The hand slips down to his bollocks. Then further down, dry finger stroking over his opening. It has to be “Severus?” The hand pats his thigh. Confirmation? Comfort? Harry swallows. It is Severus. It is. 

Gasp at the first touch of silk. The end of the scarf teases from one nipple, to the other, then down to his cock, down his thighs. Something soft follows it’s trail. He has no idea what it might be until the very tip of a thorn grazes his nipple. Harry hisses, though it doesn’t quite hurt. The petals sooth the area, then trace downwards. The silk is trailing back upwards by the time the rose swirls around his soft cock. Thorns kiss his stomach and thighs as the petals are guided around. Satiny smoothness caressing his bollocks. The silk scarf traces his lips and his tongue pokes out absentmindedly. 

The silk is draped across his blind eyes. Something small and firm presses against his lips. Harry presses them closed tightly. The edge of it presses insistently. Harry turns his head, but the object follows him until he reluctantly lets it in. Harry holds it in his mouth. It’s a square. Is it edible? Is it candy? He traces it with his tongue over and over. Presses it against the roof of his mouth firmly. It breaks. But he can’t _taste_ it. He’s too scared to chew it. Stupid thing to worry about now, after he swallowed the potion/juice/poison. The petals tickle the bottom of his foot and it surprises him enough that he bites down. Food, it must be. Chocolate, maybe, with that texture. Chocolate, or something like it. What else is square like that? Candy of some kind. He chews slowly, still worried but he inevitably swallows. If the liquid hasn’t killed him yet, he doubts the food will. 

His stomach churns as the food begins its descent downward.

Time doesn’t make sense anymore. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, or how long it will be. He pulls on his arms and legs gently, not expecting to be freed, but testing his restraints anyway. 

The rose is laid diagonally across his chest. Cold, firm something presses to the bottom of his foot. Metal? Harry flexes his toes and tries to lift his head, for all the good that will do. A hand presses his head down once more and Harry tenses. He nearly forgot the _people_ in his bid to identify the food and follow the touch of silk and rose. Harry licks his lips. The food must have been chocolate - his saliva feels thick and creamy in his mouth. 

Metal glides up his foot and the flat taps the tips of his toes. The flat side, because soon the edge rests against his ankle. Is that a knife? Harry chokes on his breath. He lays very, very still. The flat of the blade glides dangerously up the inside of his leg. It stops at the knee, a kiss of the edge. Not enough to hurt, only a reminder. Up the inside of his thigh. Harry takes a slow, shaky breath. He doesn’t dare move. 

Fingers lace through his as the knife approaches his cock. The hand is sweaty. It is too small to be Severus’s. At least he thinks it is. Severus’s hand isn’t that small, is it? Does he really know what Severus feels like at all? “Stop,” he gasps. The hand squeezes his. The knife does not stop. The flat of the blade carefully lifts his cock. Harry holds his breath and squeezes the hand back. Squeezes it tightly. He wonders if the person hisses in pain, or if their face scrunches up. Wonders what their face looks like. If this is a man or a woman. It might be a woman. Maybe. Harry’s eyes squeeze painfully shut as he tries to conjure a face - any face - to ignore the metal but - that’s a knife on his cock! “Stop!” he says louder. 

The knife bounces his cock on its flat end and Harry hisses - he doesn’t know if it really stings, or if he’s hypersensitive. A hand comes up to cradle his prick as the knife moves on. Harry whimpers. The tip of the blade dips into his navel. Not to hurt, not to injure. Softness against the head of his prick. Warm air. A mouth? Harry whines and squirms. The knife is placed carefully on his chest, crossing the rose. A nose - he thinks that’s a nose - nuzzles his bollocks. A tongue traces his nipple.

He is naked in front of people. And two people have their mouths on him. At least one of them is not Severus. Can’t be. Severus is allowing this? He couldn’t - he _wouldn’t_ \- it might be a spell. There are spells for this, he knows. There are loads of sex spells. Only this feels so real. Do the spells always feel so real? Can they mimic breath that way? They might. Advanced spells might. It must be magic. Severus would not let other people touch him this way.

Unless Severus isn’t in the room.

Only...Severus wouldn’t leave him here like this. 

Could they have hurt Severus? He’s breathing more rapidly now. No. Severus is strong. He is skilled. He was a spy for two decades. He is the best duelist Harry knows. No one could hurt Severus. And Severus would fight to hell and back to protect Harry. 

But Severus is human. He’s not invincible.

“Severus?” Harry asks. He wonders how his voice sounds. The name feels weak leaving his throat. Does it sound as pitiful as it feels? 

Lips press against his. Harry kisses back clumsily. It is Severus, it is. Isn’t it? It must be. He knows the feel of Seveurs’s mouth, he _does_ . Harry traces the lips with his tongue. Thin, dry. Severus, Severus, Severus. Others could have thin, dry lips - but this _is_ his lover, he knows it, it is. It must be. He calms when teeth nip at his mouth. It is. It is Severus. 

The mouth moves down his jaw, but there is still a tongue flicking against his left nipple. A tongue sliding over his prick. “Stop, please, don’t,” Harry whispers. Hands move up his thighs. The rose and knife are removed. The bindings on his legs are loosened. The mouths leave him. He feels the chaise shifting beneath him and he is flipped over as it changes. 

The new position leaves his arms crossed ahead of him. He is leaning over a leather hump and his knees rest in a divot. His legs jerk. Hands hold him still as his legs are reconnected to the chaise. Hands smooth up and down his spine. Fingers stroke through his hair. Lips and tongue against the bottom of his feet. His toes curl up. Harry shakes his head. Jerks against his bindings. “Stop! Don’t, please!” 

Softness down his spine now. The silk or the rose? Harder to tell this way. The rose, he thinks. Something else soft follows - it tickles. A feather? Harry sniffs. Teeth nip at his hip. Teeth nip at his toes. Tongue tracing the crease between thigh and buttock. His breathing is ragged. He tries - he tries to steady himself. No one is hurting him. No one will hurt him. 

Fingertip traces the shell of his ear. Rose tickles the back of his knee. Tongue ghosts over the crease of his arse. Harry trembles. His nails scratch at the leather. Lips soft, kissing each of his fingertips. Harry licks his lips. Someone else licks his lips. Harry whimpers. Feather tickles his neck, his ear. Rose trails down the arch of his foot. Fingers spread his cheeks so that the tongue has more room. Tongue flicks against his hole. Another square of maybe-chocolate is pushed into his mouth. Someone pats his head. Someone rubs his back. The tongue firms and presses inside. 

“Nnn!” Harry says around the chocolate. He spits it out. Hand in his hair pushes his face back into it. Harry tries to shake his head, but the grip is firm. Not painful, only firm. It only lets go once he’s sucked the chocolate back into his mouth. The tongue is fucking into him. 

Severus, it’s Severus, it’s Severus, it is. 

Another mouth nips at his cheek. A hand rubs his lower back soothingly. Harry quickly chews the candy in his mouth, but it’s difficult for him to swallow around the tightness of his throat. Tears sting his eyes. Lips move against his arse cheek - a spell. He feels the cool slickness deep inside and inhales sharply. Chokes on the chocolate. All movements stop but for one - the finger pushing into his hole. Harry coughs. Someone pats his back. Someone else plays with his hair. A second finger joins the first.

“Stop,” he rasps. “Red. Red.” 

The fingers curl. Harry licks his lips. Clears his throat. “Red. Red!” The fingers spread. Thrust in and out. A third joins them. They open him up. Make room for more. Harry can’t get enough air. He chokes on his breath. “Red! Severus, red!” 

Can they not hear them? If Severus brought others to join, he would have told them his safeword. They would know to stop. Severus would trust them to stop. Severus would stop. Would stop himself. Would stop others. 

Maybe they can’t hear him. Maybe he didn’t speak loud enough. Harry can’t hear himself. What does he sound like? Did he use the right word? His word is red. The color red. “Red! Red! _Red, red, red, red!_ ”

The fingers yank out. Harry doesn’t have time to catch his breath. There is movement around him. Coarse fabric against his thighs. Hot, heavy cock flops onto his thigh. Is guided to the crease. Is that Severus’s cock? It feels big, but what does big tell him? Anyone could have a big cock. Are those Severus’s fingers gripping his cheeks, prying them apart? Hot tears leak from his eyes. He opens his mouth to say it again, to say red, but all he can do is sob. He yanks on his arms. Jerks his legs. He wiggles his hips, fights as best he can with his limited range of motion. Hands hold his head down, his shoulders, press him flat into the leather. A sharp slap is delivered to his arse and it _hurts_ \- he can take a bit of sting, but this is worse. All he knows is touch. The absence of all else makes each graze all the brighter. He can’t escape any sensation. Not the nails digging into his thighs or the tight grip on his hair, or the brush of hair against his arm. It’s too much, much too much, it’s too much, and they have to stop. It has to stop, he can’t take it. 

“R-r-” He sobs. The cock slips into his crease again, nudges against his opening. It just teases him a moment as he struggles to force the word out. Cockhead presses forward - pressure, his hole opening for - then back. Then forward again. “Red, red,” Harry gasps just as the cock properly breaches him. There is no hitch, no pause, no indication that he was heard at all. Hary sobs and hiccups. 

It’s Severus. Severus would never let another man fuck him. Harry would never let another man fuck him. There has only ever been Severus, and he means to keep it that way. It is Severus, it is. Isn’t it? Wouldn't he know? Shouldn't the cock inside him feel familiar? Should the sharp thrusts? Is this what it feels like to be fucked by Severus? He thinks so. But he’s not sure. How is he supposed to know? Maybe it always feels like this. 

It could be anyone holding him down and fucking him. It might be Malfoy for all he knows - Lucius or Draco. It might be Kingsley or Remus. Or a stranger. His skin crawls. He sucks in a sobbing, useless breath. “Red!” he screams. “Red! Red! Red! RED! _RED! RED! RED!_ ”

Hands pull him back into each thrust. The stretch is on the verge of too much, and Harry can’t tell if it hurts or not. Everything feels like too much. His skin is too tight. His blood feels cold. His tears are hot trails down his cheeks and he feels them on his mouth. He licks them away and can’t even taste the salt, and that makes him cry harder. “Please, red, please, red, red, please.” 

The thrusts pick up speed. His wrists hurt where the leather digs in. His arms hurt from being pulled - each time he’s tugged back onto the man’s cock, his arms are stretched out to their limit. The cock inside of him feels too big - bigger by the second. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. It’s too big. It’s too much. It’s all too much. The hands in his hair, the lips on his shoulder. He’s going to break apart - any moment now. The deeper that cock digs inside of him, the surer he is he will shatter.

The fingers on his hips tighten. The thrusts lose rhythm until the man stills behind him, shoved as far inside of Harry as he can get. The man came, whoever he is. A man’s come is inside of him. It might not be Severus’s. It might be someone else’s come filling him up. It might be someone else’s cock pulsing. It might be another man who has taken pleasure from Harry’s body. Another man who doesn’t belong. 

Then - there is sound. Heavy breathing. A whisper. Harry’s sobbing. Harry cries out in shock and horror. He twists his head. Tries to press his ear to his shoulder, but he can’t cover both at once. 

“Shh, Harry, you’re alright,” says a familiar voice. It’s Severus. Now when Harry sobs it might be relief. It might be relief shaking through him, but it’s other things, too. Severus addresses someone else. “Go get the blanket - his bag is in the corner....There, let him up now.” He can hear the clink of metal. Feels a hand, Severus’s hand, wiping his tears away. He tries to tug his arms and legs in once they're loosened, but Severus snaps, “Let them finish.” The sharpness of his tone is almost soothing. The leather slides off of ankles and wrists. “Press the button - it’s around the front. The button! The gold, round button - he’s blind, you’re not.” 

Everything is hazy, but Severus is sharp and his tone cuts through. Harry presses his hands over his ears. The chaise moves beneath him as it reshapes itself. It’s flat again. He is still propped up on his knees, but his thighs begin to shake without the furniture to hold him. He should move, but he doesn’t know how to. 

“Come, Harry. You’re safe,” Severus tells him. His voice isn’t necessarily soft, but it isn’t harsh. The sound is muffled - Harry’s hands blocking most noise. Severus takes his legs and carefully pulls them straight, then takes Harry’s arms to roll him onto his side. Soft fabric is draped over them as Severus wraps his arms around him. Harry presses forward, presses into Severus. Severus, who still wears his trousers and his shirt. He can feel Severus’s soft, wet cock against his bare stomach. 

_It was you, you fucked me?_ He wants to ask, but he can’t form the words. It’s just as well. It might be a stupid question. 

He thinks he hears Severus whisper something. He suspects it’s a spell. The hesitant opening of his eyes confirms it - he sees color. Sees pale chest, pink nipple, sparse black hair. He quickly closes his eyes again. Severus strokes his back. Harry tilts his head and peers up, just to be sure. Hooked nose. Thin mouth. Black eyes. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and nuzzles against Severus’s chest. Severus nuzzles into his hair. He is warm and familiar and safe.

There is a vague sense of movement around them. Whispering. He feels more than hears Severus speak - the rumble in his chest vibrates against Harry’s face. Harry doesn’t try to make sense of any of it. He hides in darkness and silence against his lover. 

He isn’t sure how long it is when Severus taps his hand. His heart races fretfully at the touch, dragged back to reality. Harry loosens the press of hands over his ears. “Drink,” Severus says. Harry twists and squints his eyes open. There’s Severus’s hand - his long, slender fingers wrapped gracefully around a slim vial. The liquid inside is red. Harry licks his lips. Severus presses the vial insistently to his mouth so Harry obediently swallows. 

It’s wine. 

“This?” Harry whispers.

“This is what you drank earlier, yes.” 

Harry smacks his lips. He can taste again, he realizes. Wine. It was only wine. Severus hands the empty vial to - _someone_ \- and his hand returns with a dark brown square. Harry opens his mouth to take it, then presses his face back to Severus’s chest. He lets the chocolate sit on his tongue.

Severus tucks the blanket around them. Shifts Harry until they’re closer. He murmurs something to someone - Harry might know the words if he was paying any mind. Severus whispers something into his hair. Nudges Harry’s forehead with his nose until he tilts his face. He doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t need to, to recognize the soft touch of rose petals. They trace his cheekbone, then down the line of his nose. Harry inhales the sweet perfume. Slowly chews and swallows the smooth chocolate. He wiggles his toes. 

“Are you alright?” Severus asks quietly. 

“Mmm,” Harry says. 

“Are you hurt?”

“Mmm.”

The rose petals dip lower. Trail across his lips. There is pressure from the other side, and when the rose falls away, it is Severus’s lips against his. Harry sighs happily. He can’t quite kiss him back, but he melts into the touch of his mouth. Of the hands ghosting down his back. Softly caressing his arse. Harry hums and rocks his hips forward. 

“You did so well, my love,” Severus whispers. “You’re so strong. You take so much for me.” He slips a finger back inside Harry’s loose, wet hole. “You know you’re beautiful when you cry? Our friends quite agreed. I hated having to share it with them, but - alas. I needed them to push you over the edge.” Harry wiggles closer. He realizes he’s aroused. He’s hard and Severus’s trousers are rough against his sensitive flesh. Harry scoots himself up to press against his soft shirt, instead. “I like that, Harry. I like that the one thing you cannot stand is someone else touching you. I could hardly bear it myself. I wanted to rip their hands off. I could have gouged out their eyes for just a glimpse at you, and I had to suffer them listening to your sobbing and your screaming. I had to suffer their _hands on you_ .” The hand on his back clenches into a fist. The finger inside of him presses in too hard and Harry winces. Severus gentles his finger as it slowly slides in and out. The other hand slips away to tug up his shirt. Lets Harry’s cock slide against his skin. The hand returns to his back. “I’d kill them now if I didn’t have to take care of you. Slit their throats.” Harry shivers, but this one is from pleasure. “I’d use their blood as slick to stroke you off.” Harry keens in response to this. Severus curls his fingers _just so_ . “Deliver you their - _hearts_ \- as a token of my affection.” 

“Severus,” Harry gasps.

“Yes,” Severus breathes. “That’s it, Harry.” Harry grasps the front of Severus’s shirt. Rocks himself against that smooth skin. “They watched me fuck you. I told them to watch. I told them that you are mine. That they can never have you. I think they want you even now. But they’ll never have you, my heart. I’ll never let you go.” 

Harry cries out quietly when he comes. Severus whispers encouragement and adoration all the while. Tells him how beautiful he is. How loved he is. He thinks Severus asks if he liked it, if it was what he wanted, so he nods. 

With Severus’s arms around him, and the sound of his heartbeat, Harry drifts off. And it was silly, he thinks, that he ever questioned any of it. Of course Severus was here. Of course Severus looked after him.


End file.
